Page 20 of Straw and Gold (A Realm of Revelry #2)

Morella

“Tha mu re…reamher agama.” I pointed across the words, doing my absolute best to sound them out, which was an absolute shit job. In the common tongue, I repeated the sentence. “I have a large pig.” I rolled my eyes, slamming volume one shut and tossing it on the pillow next to me.

I highly doubted Killian’s true name was “pig” or “large” or any of the other simple words that littered the pages of Céaduah, Language of the Changelingfae . I crossed my arms and huffed like an impudent child sent to her bed early.

Too early.

I’d spent far too many hours stuck in bed with volumes of a language I was never going to learn well without actually hearing it regularly and practicing with my husband.

Maybe I had a knack for it, but true understanding would never come from a dusty old book that hadn’t been cracked open in a century.

Alista had come by once with a tray of fruits and cheese.

I’d picked at them, stewing in the embarrassing spectacle I’d made of myself just that morning.

I should have told Killian that I couldn’t make it across the canyon.

Instead, my Ravenfae stubbornness had wanted to try to prove I could.

And now, my husband was nowhere to be found—probably scheming with Fedir on how to get rid of such a weak and damaged creature.

Tsking aloud, I sprang from my bed, landing flat on the floor a moment later with a thud.

I’d seen this in myself before and knew the remedy.

But the scoopful of thistle nuts I had left were in the pocket of a gown across the room in my wardrobe.

Rising on wobbly legs, I made it, stuffing down a mouthful and chewing heartily, gulping them in a nut paste.

They wouldn’t cure me immediately, but I would be feeling stronger in the next twenty minutes or so.

I slid out of my nightgown and managed to pull a clean dress from the wardrobe.

When my arms got tired and my wings didn’t shift right to accommodate the fabric, I tore it off in frustration, tossing the burgundy gown across the floor.

Naked, I wandered to Killian’s wardrobe instead, finding pants that would never fit me and one of his soft linen shirts that draped down my legs like a dress.

The front was generous in its V neckline, and in an ingenious moment, I flipped it backwards, my wings able to sit outside the shirt from the front opening.

Proud of myself, I grabbed one of his neatly organized belts and wrapped it around my waist to tie off the shirt that draped to the top of my knees.

A midnight blue jacket hung pressed in the back of his wardrobe, and I grabbed that, too, tying the sleeves around my waist.

Slipping on my simplest black shoes, I crept to the door, careful to open it quietly in case Killian was in his study.

I stepped lightly into the corridor, shook my head at the room that he’d meant to be mine, and headed straight to the western tower to produce the day’s straw into gold—just as I’d promised in our bargain.

Two hours later, I was done, starving, and struggling to keep my eyes open. I was also thoroughly put out that my husband hadn’t come looking for me yet. Surely, he’d discovered I was missing? Surely, someone had?

I was used to attention. My brother was forever asking me how I was feeling, or if I had eaten, or whether I’d gotten enough sleep.

Even my mother watched me closely growing up, ensuring I was taking care of myself.

It was a strange thing to be in a new land, in a new position, and to be left to my own wanderings.

I pressed my hand to the wheel of the spindle, taking my foot off the footman, allowing it to slow on its own and pondered my new life. Did I like having this much freedom? It was certainly…strange.

I missed some of the attention, that I could admit.

But not just any attention—praise in particular.

It was no wonder I’d been counting how many times my husband had complimented me.

I was always seeking praise from others.

My entire life, my normal was different.

I couldn’t keep up with the other Ravenfae children, never reaching their heights, never soaring the same skies with my friends.

Compliments were few and far between, and even now, I could list each one my husband had given me.

I released the last spool of golden thread and held the bundles to my chest. Killian’s jacket loosened from my waist and fell to the floor in a heap of fine silk. I folded it neatly, setting it back onto my stool, deciding it could use some embellishment at another time.

I began my shuffle down the winding staircase, muttering to myself about how I was going to find more thistle nuts when neither Killian nor Fedir seemed to know what they were.

“I distinctly remember telling you to stay in bed.”

Killian’s voice startled me at the end of the stairwell and I jumped, the spools of thread flying from my arms. He caught each of them with a swiftness I envied and held them in one hand.

“Well?” he asked, blocking my way through the rest of the stairwell. His gaze flitted over my attire and he frowned further. “Is that my shirt?”

I bit my cheek. The frustration coming off his body told me I might actually be in trouble this time. I decided to take an innocent approach and replied, “It was so soft and fit my wings, I couldn’t help but wear it.”

His eyes narrowed and I gulped, clasping my hands in front of me. “Only to the tower and back. No one saw me…”

“And that was luck,” he finished.

I decided to change the subject. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Why did you leave your bed?” he retorted.

“I made a bargain,” I said simply. Pointing at the spools, I added, “Three spools of straw turned to golden thread. Though I will need a few more spools for tomorrow’s quota.”

“You will not be spinning tomorrow or the next day or the next until you have returned to full health.” His eyes darted to my wings, which sagged on my back.

“Nonsense,” I said flippantly. “I can manage?—”

“I don’t care what you can manage . You will be resting until you have your strength back. Thistle nuts will arrive tomorrow and you will be given other remedies for your…condition.”

I scoffed. “My condition ?” I stepped down two more stairs, finally meeting him in his own towering height.

“I’ve managed my condition for longer than you’ve even known of my existence, husband, so your assistance is unnecessary.

” I scrunched my nose, adding, “Except the thistle nuts. I’ll take those. ”

He lifted his chin, not backing down, but I didn’t really expect him to. “Are all Ravenfae as stubborn as you?”

“Ha!” I laughed in his face, poking a finger in the soft part of his shoulder, finding just more solid mass instead. “And what about you?”

“I’m not stubborn. I am practical.”

“Oh, yes,” I mocked, “the great King of the Citrine Cliffs is so practical in his bargains, and compliments, and kisses for his wife—after all, why do more than what’s strictly necessary to get your wife to give you what you need?”

“You don’t know what I need. And you’re obsessed with me praising and kissing you.”

“Am not,” I replied quickly, backing up a step to remove myself from the heat of his stare.

He followed, closing the distance between us. “Are so.”

I huffed again in the most unladylike manner, leaning back but refusing to move further. “I am not.”

“You are,” he repeated.

His face hovered over mine and my heart beat wildly at the heat of his body so close.

He carried not a wrinkle nor fine line, his face an ode to a marble carving, chiseled over years to perfection.

If he was seven years older than me, he didn’t look it.

Faekind spent most of their lives appearing to be around thirty years old until they hit a few centuries and began to age dramatically.

“How—” I swallowed hard, regaining my breath. “How old are you again?”

His lips parted slowly. “How old do you think I am, Goldling?”

“By the way you speak to me?” I snapped. “Five.”

He hummed low, his fingers trailing the side of my shirt before he gripped the loose fabric in his hand. “And how old do you think I am by the way I look at you?”

My breath caught in my chest and he posed his face directly over mine, pulling on the fabric of my makeshift dress until my body was flush with his.

He looked at me with nothing short of lust—of desire and want—all the things I’d felt since knowing him.

I grabbed his forearms, not pushing him away but not exactly pulling him closer, either.

“Moh Dhóches,” he whispered.

“Tell me what it means,” I breathed.

“You will learn,” he said simply, shifting his hand to rest underneath my backside. He blinked several times, almost shaking his head, adding, “And you will rest.”

He lifted me and I squeaked, finding myself hauled over his shoulder, his arm wrapped around the back of my thighs. He turned with me like a sack of potatoes—a winged sack of potatoes—and ignored my half-hearted protest as we left the stairwell.

I’d never been carried like this before.

Certainly never by my only previous lover, Brekkan Dioltry.

And certainly not by my practical husband whose thumb continuously rubbed the soft skin of my inner thigh.

Could he tell I loved this? Did he know that my small protest and cursing was nothing more than a show?

If he only knew that I’d rather he carried me around this way often, preferably into his great big bed so he could devour me whole until I didn’t know either one of our names.

As soon as the stone hall produced a wooden door, we were through it, shifting through two more until he stepped out of our own and lowered me to the floor. I clasped his forearms tightly, regaining my footing.

He jerked his head. “Bed. Now.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “You don’t have to be so Goddessdamn grumpy about it.”